To The End Of The Age
by roxorchix
Summary: She thought the war had taken her ability to feel. But when Hermione comes up against a certain blonde Death Eater, will she have finally met her match, or rediscover too many secrets forgotten in her past? [Dark HGDM]
1. I, Alone

**Chapter One  
**I, Alone

**--**

_She walked through the clouds and shadows alone, and wondered how she got where she was. Alone, she passed through the heart of cold and hate, but felt nothing touch her soul. She saw the visions of the greatest evils, and bore witness to the evil unleashed. And still, she couldn't feel. Alone, she couldn't feel._

_--_

Her bones ached.

She wasn't just tired; she was beyond the realms of simple fatigue.

Each limb was stiff with the cold and the lack of movement. Combined with the length of time she'd spent here, the desire to move was an incredible urge to disregard the mission for comfort.

Yet as the thought tempted the back of her mind, her eyes remained trained on the green glow across the street. The incandescent light pulsated from the top window in the shabby, run-down house. It had been poorly covered by a visibly thin, nearly sheer grey curtain. She was almost certain it used to be black, but the years of neglect had taken its toll.

Her right leg itched from the lack of circulating blood. She ignored it.

She had spent three long, fruitless days watching the seemingly deserted house, and was nearly ready to finally label the anonymous tip useless when the little man in black showed up.

She could tell he was small and on the scrawny side by the way his cloak hung loosely over his frame and over his ankles. He scurried and nearly tripped over the hem of his cloak with each step. He was clutching something in his hands. Yet despite with enchanted vision, she couldn't see his face, or what the object he held was.

So she stayed where she was among the heaps of rubble that may once have been a home, and hoped the Death Eater wouldn't be able to see past the enchanted cover that made her look just like the rubble around her.

But when the green glow appeared, poorly hidden, she let out a snort. Since when did the Dark Lord allow Death Eater amateurs?

However, when he didn't reappear for hours, the elation faded and left behind the feeling of cold, stiff limbs. So now, she was back at square one: waiting and watching.

She debated going in after him, but decided to corner him as he came out. Perhaps it was her own curiosity that won her over. She really wanted to know what the green glow was as soon as her curiosity was piqued.

She was beginning to think he'd caught onto her plan, apparated, and alerted the real Death Eaters, when the incandescent light suddenly winked off.

She frowned.

What could that possibly be? No potion she'd ever run into glowed like that for such a long period of time before being turned off with the speed of a light bulb. And what spell would need to simmer and charge like that?

Before her thoughts could go on, the Death Eater rushed out of the house, looking even more harried and clutching something in his hands yet again. She could detect the faintest glimmer of green.

Adrenaline quickened through her blood stream as she rose silently, the first movement shredding the cover charm. Moving to follow, she nearly ran into a waste bin of sheet metal when her numb, frozen legs refused to budge.

Cursing and casting a warming spell in her mind, she was moving clumsily before the spell kicked in. With a warm tingling spreading down her legs, she began to move easier as she followed the Death Eater around the corner.

Keeping to the shadows, her thin black cloak swished as audibly as her silent footsteps. The Death Eater was ahead, anxiously glancing this way and that but seemingly oblivious to the figure behind him.

Past rows of empty buildings, avoiding weak spots of lamp light, and trying not to tread on muddy puddles, she couldn't see the purpose of the route he'd taken. On the next turn, she found him standing in the centre of a walled-in alley.

She was just moving back out of sight when the Death Eater whipped around with a whirl of black cloth.

_"Impedimenta!"_

Barely batting an eyelash, a Protego already resounded in her mind, easily deflecting the paralyzing hex. She froze anyways and watched the Death Eater approach her.

His eyes were a wild green on the point of madness, seeming larger on his long, gaunt face. He cackled, only adding to the insane image.

"Auror. So proud and noble. So confident. Didn't think I would see you following me, would you?"

He pushed his yellowed grin into her face, his breath foul against her skin. "But I did! And I got you now. Ooh," the Death Eater crooned. "The Dark Lord will be pleased now."

He was so close to her face now that she could almost see the sweat exuding from each greasy pore, smell the oil on each strand of unwashed hair, and feel the spittle that flew from his mouth.

Rather than grimacing, she jabbed her wand into his ribs with a small smile.

_"Petrificus Totalus."_

It wasn't necessary to speak the words out loud, but she enjoyed the way his eyes widened with fear and realization that he'd been played a fool.

She caught his elbow so he wouldn't fall over once his body went rigid. Pivoting her body weight, she manoeuvred the Death Eater to the wall so he leaned against it like a slab of plywood.

His hands were raised awkwardly, fingers curled and empty of any object.

Her eyes narrowed.

Her small hands easily reached into the loose robe and drew out what she sought in the first pocket. The clear vile with a green liquid glowed warmly in her hand.

Her eyebrows rose. This truly wasn't like any potion she'd seen before.

"What is this?"

When she looked back at the Death Eater, she could see his wide-eyed terror. That was good. Perhaps then she wouldn't have to hurt him

She raised the vial so it was in his eyesight and so he couldn't possibly mistake it for anything else. Then she brought the tip of her wand down on his lips, and watched it gape open and shut on his otherwise frozen face.

She pointed at the vial, watching his eyes wheel around like pin balls in his eyes sockets.

"What is this, Death Eater?"

When he only continued to gape, she jabbed him in the ribs again.

"I asked you a question. Answer it."

He cleared his throat, sounding more like hacking then anything else. Then he began to sputter, spittle flying from his mouth with each word.

She grimaced now, a glare shutting the Death Eater up.

She wiped the spittle from her face.

"Bloody hell, doesn't the Dark Lord allow you filth to wash yourselves anymore?"

"The Dark Lord will have my head should I speak of this."

"Yes, charming bloke isn't he." She moved back so his eyes focused on her. "But he's not here. I am."

His lips stretched into a smirk.

"Oh, Auror. Do you think you can fool me? The Ministry of Magic has pussy-footed around this war for years. Aurors don't kill. You haven't the stomach for it."

She took a step closer until their faces were an inch apart. She held his gaze, keeping her eyes cold and emotionless. Her words were spoken low and flat.

"You've been sadly misinformed. Scum don't have the slightest idea what I would do. I could torture the information out of you. Gladly. But I'm afraid the Ministry frowns upon such actions for such mundane purposes. I could take you back with me where we have a team who can specially extract the information with a highly inventive process. Or -" she stepped back enough to show him the vial containing a clear liquid, "I could just pour this down your throat and get all the information I could possibly need."

The smirk instantly dropped from his lips, returning to a slack-jawed gape.

"No! Please. The Dark Lord will kill me. He will know I have spoken to you. I can't… his wrath… no, no…" the Death Eaters voice hitched.

She shrugged as she popped open the vial.

"Death Eater, you're buggered either way." She reached over and held open his mouth none-too gently. "Take the painless option."  
She dumped the Veritaserum into his upturned mouth while pitiful mewling emitted from the back of his throat. She waited for a moment to be sure the potion had entered his system.

"Lets try again. What is this?"

His terrified eyes were locked on the green vial.

"I can't… no…" His eyes were beginning to slowly glaze over.

"What is it, Death Eater?"

"It's a Di-"

His throat suddenly convulsed. His eyes wheeled madly as sounds she'd never heard before began to sound. His throat bulged, constricted, and then bulged again, each contraction creating a popping, then crunch.

He couldn't gag; it was a helpless mewling that he made.

She pointed her wand at his throat.

_"Anapneo."_

Nothing happened. It only worsened.

Muscles strained as he fought the Full-Body Bind in vain, trying to clutch at his throat. The skin bubbled now as if he were dunked into boiling water. His face was turning blue and purple. And there was nothing she could do. She'd never seen anything like it.

It seemed like an eternity before he died, when in reality it had only been a little over a minute. Yet she knew the exact second he died, for his body lost the rigor as the Full-Body Bind lifted, and his bladder let go.

His small, skinny frame barely made a noise when his body hit the ground.

She stared at the vial in hand and then at the Death Eater at her feet. His limbs were splayed about as if he were a rag doll thrown across the room by a spoiled, upset child. A rag doll lying in its own excrement.

She shook her head as her stomach rolled from the smell of waste and burning skin.

"Not so bloody painless after all." Her voice seemed to bounce off the stone walls, echoing in the still night. It brought her back to how cold it was.

Gritting her teeth, she shut down her mind from what she had to do now.

She reached down and grasped the Death Eater's hand. He was still warm.

She wiped her mind clean of the image burning itself in, and concentrated on her destination. A smooth, graceful turn, and she, along with the Death Eater, was gone in the next second.

The old house stood empty and in rambles. The streets were quiet and deserted, and the alley was just a barren, walled-in alley.

It was nothing but a slight ripple of disturbance in the Muggle World.

--

"He's advancing through the North. The Giants all seem to be aligned under the Dark Lord's -"

"You mean Voldemort?" At the young man's cringe, the black-haired man lazily leaned back against the couch facing the fireplace behind him. "Oh, come on now, Dean. It's been a full out war for five years and you still can't take hearing his name?"

It didn't seem to matter that Dean was inches taller; he swallowed nervously as he nearly wavered under the piercing green eyes that held him pinned to his spot. They'd been to Hogwarts together, were of the same age. Still, the black-haired man felt older, far older and different as ever.

"Yes, V-Voldemort seems to have complete command of those Hagrid hasn't swayed."

"So how would you say our situation is up North?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Dean's face.

"Well… I'd say we're fairing poorly. In short, we're losing, mate."

The only emotion he displayed was a slight tightening in his jaw.

Before they could say anymore, there was the slightest rush of air that had both men turning to the fireplace. What had been just a plain brown rug now had a cloaked figure and what looked like a sack of black cloth on top of it.

The figure dropped what was in its hand as soon as it apparated completely.

"Dean. Harry," the figure greeted as it swept off the hood to reveal hard brown eyes and a great, frizzy bush of brown hair.

"Hermione," Harry acknowledged with an inclination to his chin.

He was staring at her, so she stared back.

He knew he hadn't changed. He was the same average height, the same black hair, the same green eyes, and the same beaten-up glasses no matter how many times they got magically repaired. The only real change was his hair. He wore it longer now, either from not bothering with a haircut, or to hide his scar. It didn't matter, anyways. Nobody needed the scar to recognize him anymore.

She, on the other hand, had subtle changes. Her body still had the same long lines, noticeable even under the old cloak. Her brown hair was just as frizzy, and her spells were just as wicked. Yet her brown eyes seemed harder, her disposition colder.

"You look better," she stated.

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, the last time you saw me was after the Ravenclaw Cup horcrux. That one was nearly the end of me."

Once, she may have worried, then tell him not to talk like that. Now, she only nodded. "Yeah."

"Uh, Harry?" Dean stammered when the silence stretched into tension. "I gotta finish that report on the North for McGonagall. Mind?"

"No. Go ahead," Harry said, mildly surprised. He nearly forgot about Dean. "Thanks for your time."

"No problem, mate," Dean replied as he made a beeline for the door. Hermione hadn't looked away from Harry. Harry didn't glance back either. Dean was probably glad; many hated getting caught between them. At least Ron wasn't here. He remembered the last time…

Harry tactfully shook the thoughts from his head. Nothing had been the same for a long time.

When Dean was gone, the tension continued until Hermione jerked her head towards the Death Eater, taking a step away at the same time.

"I found a Death Eater."

Harry shook his head, frustration evidently rising.

"Forget about that for a second, will you? I haven't seen you in months and you want to dive straight into business after a mission?" He scowled at her shrug.

"What else can we say? I say you look better, you say you are better, so now what but business?"

"That's rubbish, Hermione. You can't take a second to talk to me as a friend?"

She gave him an incredulous look that had his temper rising as well.

"If you haven't noticed, there's a full-scale war going on right now. There isn't time for pleasant chit-chat at the moment."

"You don't need to tell me there's a war waging," he said through gritted teeth. "And I don't want chit-chat. I just wanted to know if you're okay."

"If you see me breathing, then I'm fine."

"Stop it, Hermione. Stop being so bloody flippant. I worry about you."

She let out a mirthless laugh.

"Oh, _that's_ rubbish, Harry. Don't you've too much on your plate right now? Didn't you hate it when I worried over you?"

"That was… This is different."

She cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I… It… We're…" he dragged his fingers through his hair, giving her a glimpse of the famous scar. "Damnit, Hermione."

She waited a moment for the silence to settle before continuing.

"I found a Death Eater." Looking away from Harry for the first time, she toed the Death Eater over to show him his neck. She moved to the fireplace as she undid her cloak, letting it fall to the ground.

"I have him Veritaserum to tell me what this-" she flashed him the potion she'd palmed from her cloak pocket, "-is. When he tried telling me…" she motioned to his body. His neck looked even worse now, bruising purple at the welts. "That happened."

That was fine, that was just fine. He could play the game too. Harry checked his frustration and shifted into his Auror mode, his voice taking on a brusque tone.

"Do you know if it was a curse or the Veritaserum that did him in?"

"Well it would still be a curse either way. Veritaserum isn't lethal."

Harry frowned. "You know what I mean."

"And I don't know. That's why I apparated here."

"You're lucky you can still get past the identity enchantment for apparating in here."

She rolled her shoulders in a casual shrug, but it was so stiff that Harry could practically see the knots. "I went to the same Auror training as you." She jerked her thumb towards the Death Eater. "I need him inspected." With a wave and flick of her wrist, wand in hand, the body disappeared. "I want Fred and George on it."

He nodded. "I'll get them."

"No," she stated as she headed for the door, "I'll do it myself. Excuse me."

Harry let her go, watching as she exited through the door Dean escaped through earlier.

Nothing was the same… oh no, nothing was ever going to be the same again.

--

_The boys stood on the platform and talked absently in whispers. Surrounding them were other teenagers, all talking in the same subdued whispers. Some stood quietly though, while others shifted from foot to foot with obvious nerves._

_A group of first year girls laughed, but broke off quickly as heads turned._

_The two seventh year boys didn't pay any heed to those around them. While one was dark and of average height, the other was tall, fair, and had hair the colour of flaming carrots. They were waiting, both occasionally glancing through the crowd. _

_They didn't have to wait long until a bushy haired seventh year approached them._

_"Harry! Ron!" she said in a fierce whisper._

_They both smiled and cried, "Hermione!" in unison._

_Embracing Harry, they gripped one another tightly before she turned to Ron. Up on tiptoes, she pecked him on the cheek. He flushed crimson._

_"Am I too late?" she asked, her hands wringing together. "Oh dear, I told mum and dad to leave earlier. The train hasn't come? Is it going to come? I hope-"_

_"Take a breath, Hermione," Harry interrupted with a laugh._

_"No kidding," Ron piped in with a grin. "School hasn't even started yet and you're already stressing _us_ out."_

_She sighed, letting her hands fall limply to her sides._

_"I know. I'm sorry. Let's talk about something different."_

_"Yeah, like how I haven't seen Ferret Boy around?" Ron asked, using his considerable height to scan the crowd again._

_Hermione glanced around as well._

_"After what happened last year, I'll be surprised if Dumbledore even allows Malfoy near Hogwarts."_

_"Dumbledore believes there's good in everyone though. Probably even that pale-faced prat." Ron turned to Harry who'd stayed quiet in their conversation. "What do you think, mate?"_

_Harry shrugged. "I think Dumbledore has good reason for everything he does."_

_Ron snorted. "You still hate that prat."_

_"Yeah, I still hate that prat."_

_A sudden steam train whistle blew through the whispers. Heads jerked up as a red train rambled around the corner. The gloom instantly lifted at the sight._

_Hermione nearly squealed, as she gripped her two friends' hands in excitement._

_"It's here! It's really here! I can't wait. We're going to Hogwarts!" _

_Ron rolled his eyes at Harry who gave a responding laugh._

_"Yeah," Ron said sarcastically. "Let's hope we make it through the year first."_

_Gathering their things together, the three best friends boarded the train to Hogwarts. Together._

* * *

Happiness is just an illusion  
Filled with sadness and confusion  
--Jimmy Ruffin

* * *


	2. Patience

**Chapter Two  
**Patience

--

Hermione was feeling tired, antagonized, and confused enough for the combination to have her teeth gritted and fuming as she stalked out of the room with Harry. She didn't care for the heads turning as she made her way down the cubicles on Level Two of the Ministry of Magic, but she made no moves to prevent it. She hated coming here.

Some faces she recognized, but most others she didn't. All of them, however, had complete, undisguised curiosity on their faces as they blatantly stared at her. Hermione had the urge to snarl and hex a few for examples, but decided that would be more fuel for the fire of gossip. That and she also realized they were on the same side. So she continued to ignore them as she reached her cubicle at the far right, end of the room.

Didn't she expect this? This was always what happened when an Auror is rarely seen. And she rarely, if ever used her cubicle when some Aurors were practically chained to theirs with paperwork and reports. She knew it was bad enough for some to have placed bets on whether or not she was still alive.

Sure enough, when she glanced from under her eyelashes, she saw money exchange hands.

Not surprised but still disgusted, Hermione yanked out her chair and dropped into it more then sat. She could've laughed, or she could've sucked it up for her big, bad Auror ego, but the combination she had, along with the mountain of a knot in her shoulders had decided otherwise for her. Scowling, she stared at her clean, dust-free desk. She noted the precisely lined up quill holder, name plate, communicator, and picture frame, and wondered who got stuck with cleaning her desk.

Picking up the single quill in the holder, she idly twirled it between her fingers. For no reason at all, it reminded her how much she hated paperwork. Regulations, regulations… It was a bloody waste of time. Couldn't they see there was a war? That the place was crawling with Death Eaters? Right, along with sad, wanna-be Death Eaters posing in hopes the Dark Lord spares them when he comes out the victor.

As her mind spiralled into the rant with her eyes fixed on the twirling white feather of the quill, she knew she was stalling. There was no paperwork to do because she figured the Ministry finally learned and stopped trying to push it on her, so she was just sitting and sulking at her cubicle with people whispering behind their hands at her back.

Because she knew she was stalling, she knew she was letting herself, and that just made it all worse then it actually was. Clamping down on what she saw as weak, she glanced up from the twirling quill, and froze when her gaze landed on the empty picture frame.

Long ago, a friend had enchanted it to show the photograph she had in mind, and gave it to her as a gift. She said it was so she could have a bunch of photographs to look at instead of just one.

Lines raced across the blank canvass now, colour just as quickly seeping in. Then it was a picture of Ron, Harry, and her, bundled up and laughing while hurling snow at one another. She could only think they looked so young and innocent in their seventh year when melancholy hit her. Like they didn't know everything was already falling apart.

The quill snapped in her hand.

With a hiss, she set the frame face down with a snap.

She didn't notice another quill magically appear in the holder.

Grabbing the small black box with a square monitor jutting from the top, Hermione placed the tip of her wand on a white patch as she spoke.

"Level Five. Fred and George."

The white patch pulsed red as it magically scanned her wand, voice, and 'magical print', then faded to an orange when everything was correctly linked to her identification.

"Fred and George have been notified on Level Four," a smooth voice stated tonelessly.

She took her wand off her communicator, and patch remaining orange. She sat back, fidgeted with her wand, shifted her feet, and then realized how twitchy she suddenly got. Sitting straighter, Hermione tucked her wand away in one of the folds in her robe, crossed her arms, and carefully smoothed her face into a blank expression.

The only things she needed to do now were remember her mission, and what she needed to ask of Fred and George. She stared at the blank screen. And wait. Now she needed to wait.

--

"Fred! Bloody hell, would you _get_ the MC!"

George Weasley hunched over a long, industrious looking table, every inch of which was covered in what looked like toys. All around him, things whirled, winked, screeched, blinked, lit up, or just stayed absolutely still. And there was his wand nearly burning a hold in his pocket while he was elbow deep in Tracking Goo with the black communicator ominously watching him across the room.

Disgusted with the lack of a response, George was getting up, a clear slime covering his forearms, when there was a flush and the appearance of Fred.

"MC… bloody Ministry Communicators. Do you realize how bleeding uncomfortable it is to use the john when your wand started heating up your robe pockets?"

George snorted as they crossed the floor of their shared office together, equally annoyed.

"We ought to design a new one."

"Ministry'll never accept it," George scoffed.

"Then lets strike. It's not like they've got us doing anything interesting down here."

"We'd be sacked first."

"They can't do that!" Fred protested. Their dialogue was lightening fast. "We're the best."

They dodged a pile of enchanted objects, the sheer clutter nearly twisting George's ankle as they sidestepped it.

"Then we ought to get another room for all this junk," George muttered.

Fred laughed. "Yes, because I suppose the entire half of Level Five isn't nearly room enough."

And answering grin tugged at George's lips. "They ought to just give us the whole bloody floor."

By the time they reached the MC, both twins were feeling considerably better. Drawing their wands at the same time, they initiated contact without bothering to ask who was contacting them.

George heard Fred's sharp intake before recognizing the face that filled the screen.

"You two get connected at the waist yet?" Hermione asked in lieu of a greeting.

Fred and George exchanged a look that meant more then words could say.

"Hermione," George started slowly. "We haven't seen you in ages."

Catching George's sharp, warning glance, Fred checked his next question. A muscle twitched in his jaw before he nodded in agreement. "We nearly put in a bet."

Hermione seemed to catch the look, but didn't comment on it. She surprised them when she asked, "Which side did you bet on?"

"Against death."

"We've seen you cast spells, you know," Fred put in.

When Hermione nodded, even with a ghost of a smile, both twins could see playtime was over.

"So what brings you to our humble abode?" George asked, trying to ignore the awkward feelings hanging in the air. Fred felt the same way. He was trying not to scuff or shuffle his feet.

"Did you get the body I sent up earlier?"

"Yeah," Fred gave up his battle and tapped his toes against the floor. "I heard it come in while I was in the john. Strange thing when you hear a dead body hit the metal."

"All right. I need him look at, and I don't want lackeys doing it. How soon can you two do it?"

George leaned a hip against the desk and tucked his tongue into his cheek. "Just what's so special about this Death Eater? One eyed? One legged? Charmed smile?"

"Amateur," Hermione replied, deadpan.

Fred let out an ever perfectly timed low whistle. George grinned, not surprised but still disappointed when Hermione's expression didn't change.

"What else?"

Fred grinned, matching George's grin. "Yeah. What else?"

"A potion."

The twins turned to each other crying, "A potion!"

Hermione's lips tugged. "Honestly. How soon can you look at it?"

"Oh, we can look at it," Fred started, "But what are we looking for?"

She shifted, and the twins could see the light Aurors got in their eyes when they pick up a trail. They found it unnerving.

"Anything. I need to know what it does. Everything it does. And if you can do it, I want to know what it's made of, and how to make it. Will you do it?"

George shook his head with a wistful sigh. "Dear Hermione, we can do everything."

"Yes, must you ask?"

"I was asking if you would do it."

"Still. Must you really ask?"

If they weren't watching so carefully, neither would've caught the flash of nerves, and knew she had thought of Ron.

"Yes."

"Well," Fred moved aside so she could see the roomful of 'potentially enchanted and dangerous objects of the dark arts' they had not yet inspected. "I suppose we can fit you in somewhere on our ever monotonous schedule."

"Check objects? Sod it. We'd _much_ rather look at the corpse of a Death Eater."

"And a potion," Fred quickly added.

"I'll send it up then."

"How soon do you need it done?" George asked.

Hermione glanced around the room, distaste plain on her face. "As soon as possible."

Both twins responded as one. "You got it."

--

When the transmission ended with a promise of speed, Hermione buried her face in her hands. Her eyes felt dry and grainy from the hours she'd been awake. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a moments rest, much less a minute of sleep. Snuffling a yawn, she squelched the urge to lay her head down on her desk and sleep.

What now? Hermione asked herself. She had to get authorization to further investigate, but she couldn't think straight. She must've done this a thousand times before but… Her eyes drooped.

"Hi! Hermione, right?"

Her eyes snapped open at the high-pitched, perky greeting. She glanced up to see a bubbly blonde peering over the wall that separated the cubicles.

"My name's Cindy! I've had this cubicle for a while. It's nice to meet you! You've never been at your cubicle since I've got this one."

Hermione propped her elbow on the desk and leaned her temple into her fingers.

"What happened to Kingsley?"

"Oh, Kingsley doesn't use this cubicle anymore! Haven't you heard? Kingsley was promoted to the Head of Aurors!"

Hermione wondered if the exclamations were just naturally built into her speech, and then fleetingly wondered if those perky tones could make her head explode.

"Oh yes?" she asked as politely as she could. "When was this?"

"Well…" Cindy pursed her bright pink lips and tapped a coral tipped finger on it while she thought. "Rufus Scrimgeuor was elected to Minister of Magic! Then there was Baltzer. He was terrible! After they sacked him, the brought in Rolen! _He_ was caught by Death Eaters. Charles had a breakdown, Artemis took an early retirement, and Hobbes was caught and sentenced for treason!"

Hermione felt the headache building with the whirlwind of facts, all stated with perk and cheer.

"Kenneth. It was Kenneth last time I was here."

"Oh! Kenneth! Nobody knows for sure where he went. I hear he cracked from the pressure! Kingsley is head now! He's good!" There was a momentary pause before Cindy continued. "You know… You're not as bad as people say! They think you're ill-tempered, easily annoyed and-"

"That's because," Hermione stated, cutting her off. "I'm only wondering why the Ministry is passing bubble-gum bimbos into the Auror department."

Cindy shrank back, the smile beginning to look slightly frightened.

"I mostly do paperwork," she finally replied in a small voice.

Hermione bared her teeth in a mock smile. "That explains a lot. Get back to riding your desk, Cindy. I have work to do."

Her head was gone before Hermione finished her sentence. Feeling slightly better now without anymore incessant chatter aimed her way, Hermione pushed away from her desk to seek out the new Head of Aurors.

--

Fred snapped on the thin, near transparent gloves that completed his sterile, protective suit. George was across the room, dressed much in the same way but looking at the mysterious potion. Fred sighed as he approached the body of the Death Eater.

He didn't mind wearing the protective suits over his robes too much. Not really. He appreciated the fact that it would disarm any nasty curses lingering on the body. It was discovered that you could be cursed should you mess around with some corpses. Yes, it's possible to hex a dead body to curse someone else.

It was better safe than sorry, right? Fred just wanted to know why they had to look so bloody silly.

Running his wand over the body, Fred muttered the standard spell they did first, every time. Colours would light up curses on the body, and from there, they could go onto finding what those curses were. On this particular Death Eater, there were some vicious slashes of colour on his desecrated throat, and a spread of black across his chest.

Fred took a closer look at the throat and sighed. This one would need to be inspected from the inside out. Raising his wand, he delved into the work.

He didn't know how much time passed before he heard George call his name. Raising bleary eyes, he squinted at George.

"What?"

"Tracking Goo illuminates the steps or path taken by the thing being tracked, right?"

Fred raised his hand to rub his eyes before he remembered the various substances he probably didn't want touching his face.

"Yeah. So?"

George corked the bottle with a speculative gaze. "So, this potion isn't… what I was expecting."

With a shake of his head, Fred was turning back to the neck for a second look when a faint grey smudge caught the corner of his eye. That was strange. He rolled up the Death Eater's sleeve carefully, muttering under breath.

His eyes narrowed at the sight. Then his eyebrow shot up when he recognized the shape.

"Uh, George? Come take a look at this."

--

When Fred and George decide to go find Hermione, she wasn't going to be difficult to find. Hermione fumed over her desk as she hunched over the fresh parchment on her desk. Grabbing a quill, she began scribbling her report down.

_Paperwork_, she thought in disgust. She went to see Kingsley on following up her lead, but the bloody secretary wouldn't let her in without first having a written report. She remembered a time when she wouldn't have minded, in fact, she would've loved to write up a report. It took her mind off personal feelings, let her align her thoughts and plan. Now it just infuriated her that she had to stay at her desk writing a report instead of going out and actually looking for the bloody Death Eater.

Yet she realized why they needed her to do it, and that she needed the results from Fred and George before she could actually do anything in the first place. So grudgingly resigned, she worked until the noise around her began to tune itself out.

"_Hermione_!"

Her hand jerked as she glanced up at the sound of her name. Fred and George's faces swam into focus.

"Bloody hell, woman. We've been calling your name for the past minute." You've been getting too into that report." Fred or George, she couldn't tell, looked over her shoulder at the 10 inch long parchment. He let out a low whistle. "All that and you haven't even gotten our report yet."

"All right." Hermione leaned back in her chair and ignored the urge to rub her eyes. "What've you got?"

"Okay." Both twins whipped chairs out of the air and sat down to form a cramped triangle, their knees bumping hers.

"This is what we found," whom she assumed to be George said as he pulled out a crumpled up parchment. He unrolled it to show a sketch of the potion with various labels and scribbles. "I got the potion, so I just whipped this up," he started, beginning to point as he spoke. "I was surprised after I got a look at it. It's different, but once you get down to it, it's really nothing but a crude Tracing potion. I like to call it goo, but it's not nearly as sophisticated." George shifted in his seat as he unrolled the parchment some more.

"See, tracing goo illuminates the tracks of the person they're following. You put it in one footprint, and it lights up the rest. It can be ingested and tracked that way as well. But this… I broke down the components and see that? It's nearly the same as Tracing Goo, but there are these ingredients in it that don't… make sense. Dragon eyes, goblin tendons, and traces of a hippogriff feather." George paused to let Hermione comment.

"Those are rare ingredients. That Death Eater couldn't have gotten access to that, not without someone higher up on the feeding chain. Someone a lot more powerful… not to mention someone much cleverer."

Thoughtfully, George tapped his nose. "We'll get to that. The potion is crude, but I don't think this Tracking potion needs to be consumed. I think its being tracked right now."

"This can't be in here then," Hermione quickly put in. About three years ago, a group of Death Eaters had apparated into the Ministry of Magic, killing several administrators, Aurors, and Hit Wizards before finally being contained. Since that catastrophe, the apparting enchantment had been put in, along with an enchantment that made the Ministry of Magic randomly apparate itself so it couldn't be tracked.

Fred leaned in, disregarding her remark. "Funny thing that Death Eater, though. He died a bloody, nasty death. Obviously you would've seen the muscles contracting and tearing, and then the bubbles from the burns. What you wouldn't have seen would be the burns from _inside_ his throat. It was a wicked death with burns inside the tears. The one who cursed him really didn't want him to say a word about the potion. There's no proof that the Veritaserum caused it. We think it was triggered when he tried to tell you what it is."

Thinking back, Hermione nodded. "That makes sense. Nothing unusual happened when I gave him the Veritaserum. When he just started to tell me…"

Fred was already nodding in agreement. "Yes, but that's hardly the most interesting part. You see, I almost very nearly missed this last bit. He had a death mark on his left forearm, but it confirms your belief on his being an amateur. It wasn't real. Sure, it was burnt in handy dandy, but…"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Well? Come on."

"Please, don't rush me. I've been boring myself silly with 'potentially dangerous and enchanted objects of the dark arts' and new beginners that they expect me to train. Let me take my time."

Hermione gave him a second before he squirmed.

"Okay. There was poison in it! Whoever enchanted the mark for him did it with the intention of killing him in the end. The poison had already entered and circulating into his blood stream when he died. So I think-"

"It was a set-up," Hermione interrupted. Fred looked slightly annoyed. "I knew he looked too amateurish…"

"Hermione," Fred suddenly blurted. She glanced up at him, slightly surprised by the abrupt tone. He shoved the parchment in her hand and said the rest in a rush, obviously ignoring his twin's hard look. "Are you leaving for a mission again, after this report?"

She took the parchment, placing it on her desk without taking her eyes off Fred.

"Yes. If I get to investigate, then yes."

"Are you going to see Ron?"

Hermione felt the pressure start on her chest, and felt like a fool for it. The question was inevitable, it had to be asked.

"No."

Fred shifted uncomfortably, but he seemed determined enough to follow through. "But why?"

"He doesn't need to see me."

"You really think that?"

She jerked a shoulder. "He could come to me."

"He won't even know you've been here."

"Then your question is irrelevant."

Fred ignored the daggers George was aiming in his direction and ploughed on. "Could you be that cold?"

"Yes."

"Then you're not our Hermione."

George stood suddenly, grasping Fred's elbow. The chairs vanished.

"We're going. Now."

"That's a good idea," Hermione said stiffly.

"George," Fred started.

"No." George gave her a cut nod and turned away. Fred grudgingly followed.

As they left she could still hear their words in whispers and hisses.

"You didn't need to do that."

"He's our brother."

--

"My report," Hermione stated as she slapped the parchment down on Kingsley's desk. He looked up wearily from behind the stacks of paper neatly organized on his desk. It was the only organization in the entire room. Everywhere else looked as if a hurricane had just blown through.

Everything included Kingsley himself. He was a tall, black, well-spoken wizard who'd aged well. He still wore a silver hoop through his ear. But now, he looked worn with fatigue, the evidence under his eyes.

"This couldn't have waited until the next morning, Hermione?"

"No, I'd like to move fast on this one."

Kingsley laughed. "I get the feeling you want to just get the hell out of this place."

"I'd rather just be doing something," she replied stiffly.

"Oh, relax. It was just an observation. What sort of evidence have you got for me?"

"It was a set-up." Hermione began to outline each highlight Fred and George had touched on. "The dark mark makes me think there's someone higher up pulling the strings. He meant for the Death Eater to die."

Kingsley was eyeing the parchment when he shrugged. "So? What do you plan on doing about it?"

Hermione tapped her fingernails on his desk as she leaned towards him. "I want to turn the set-up around. The Death Eater doesn't know I know what the potion does."

"Or he does know."

She disregarded it with a wave of her hand. "So? He'll come after me anyways, and I'll be prepared for it."

"That's high risk."

"I could capture a Death Eater that actually knows something."

Kingsley leaned back in his chair as he studied her over steepled fingers. "What makes you think this?"

"Just a feeling, sir."

He shook his head, ruefully. "You used to actually listen to authority when you first started. Now I get the feeling it won't matter what I say. You'll still investigate this, won't you?"

"It'll be on my mind."

Kingsley sighed as he waved his wand over the parchment. His signature scribbled on, approving her report. "All right, go. Don't do anything stupid. If there's too many trouble, get out, get back-up."

"I'm not green," she replied stonily. "I know how to handle myself."

With a flick of his wrist, the parchment filed itself away.

"I know. You're just a little rash nowadays, and I don't want one of my best Aurors killed by scum."

She nodded, and headed for the door without another word.

"Another observation, Hermione?" she turned back. "You look dead on your feet. Get some sleep. I don't want you killed by exhaustion either."

"I'd much rather leave."

"Where are you going to go?"

Hermione shrugged. She was well aware her home had been destroyed in the last Death Eater raid, and then she wasn't anywhere near London enough afterwards to establish a new home.

"Just go sleep in one of the rooms."

She had no other choice, and knew he was right.

She nodded, and left the room.

--

_He walked among the darkness as just another shadow. Scaling buildings to the skies, creeping along the edges of sidewalks and buildings, riding among the shadows cast by Muggles, he travelled unnoticed to his destination to which he'd been called._

_In a dank, industrious building, long abandoned by Muggle-kind, he recognized his master's presence. Flowing along the shadows, slipping under the crack in the doors, he returned to his natural form. Rising, bones crackling, he started up the stairs to where his master waited._

_"It's been done," he said with a deep bow when he met his master at the top of the stairs. He stayed steps below._

_There was a click on the railings where long, skeletal fingers tapped. The rest of the figure was enveloped in a billowy black robe._

_"You're certain?"_

_The man withdrew the green vial to show as proof._

_"And Alastair?"_

_The man gave a lazy shrug, yet still managed to look respectful._

_"Dead? It doesn't matter. I will hunt tomorrow."_

_There was a nearly indiscernible nod. "Then go."  
_

* * *

Stuck in the middle, no one's making a move  
I'm looking in and I got nothing to lose  
--Foo Fighters

* * *


End file.
